


Misadventures of an Angel, a Demon, and the Simple Pleasures of Earth

by Spongeborb_22



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Crying, GOD THEYRE SO CUTE I LOVE THEM, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spongeborb_22/pseuds/Spongeborb_22
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley go back to the bookstore after a lovely dinner at the Ritz. They have some wine, dance, sing, and cry. Also the author is bad at summaries.





	1. You're My Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST FIC FIRST FIC FIRST FIC

Aziraphale and Crowley had just had a very nice dinner at the Ritz, eventually leading them to go back to the angel’s shop to, well, to quote Aziraphale, “have some of this delicious wine I’d gotten so long ago” but he’d never gotten the chance to drink it himself, bookstore duties and such kept him busy. The two went into the shop, Aziraphale removing his coat and bowtie as to not accidentally spill liquor on them. It had happened before, and he’d made a single malcontent noise and Crowley had gotten rid of the stain immediately.

Crowley, on the other hand, had sauntered his way over to the back end of the shop, searching for wherever Aziraphale kept that fabled wine of his. “Angel! I can’t find the blasted alcohol!”

Aziraphale hurried over soon enough, shifting about the corner of the shop and eventually finding it in an even smaller corner of the corner of the shop. How queer. It was resting on a stack of books, mostly Jeffery Archer books. He stretched to try and grab it, going on his tiptoes and only merely being able to brush it with his fingers.

Crowley rolled his eyes, moving over and snatching up the bottle easily. Aziraphale turned around to face him and pouted slightly. “I’d almost gotten it, I didn’t need help.”

Crowley chuckled, petting the other on the head and waltzing back to the center of the shop. “Yeah, yeah, and I’m a normal mortal with an odd obsession with witches.” He’d smiled slightly at Aziraphale’s yell of “Mr. Shadwell is a very good man!” and flopped onto a nearby cushiony chair as the angel waddled into the room. Not walked, waddled.

Aziraphale stood for a couple seconds in thought before visibly having an epiphany and moving over to the record player, picking up a couple of them and plopping them into Crowley’s lap.

Crowley looked at the first record on the stack, smiling a big, toothy smile at the cover art. He looked back up at Aziraphale, the angel shifting his weight from one foot to the other in nervousness.

“Do you like them?” He asked quietly. The demon stood, Aziraphale moving back respectfully. Just as to not get into his personal space, as any good being would do. Crowley’s smile went slightly softer, and Aziraphale did _not_ just feel his heart skip a beat, whatever do you mean?

“I love them, angel.” That mere sentence led them to where they were now, drunk as all Heaven, stumbling about in an odd attempt at dancing and singing slightly off key to various Queen songs, Aziraphale eventually slumping in a chair and giggling as he watched Crowley dance to Keep Yourself Alive, not having as much stamina as the demon. As the song ended, Crowley sat on the floor next to Aziraphale’s chair, listening to the other’s little giggling fest he had going on with himself, going to a halt as he heard the first couple notes of My Fairy King trickled from the record player. The two supernatural beings, occult and ethereal, looked at each other, Crowley’s glasses propped up on his head, Aziraphale’s eyes not blinking a single time.

Crowley’s lips stretched into a smile as he quickly stood, nodding his head once to make his glasses fall back onto his face and grabbing Aziraphale’s hand, the other going up with a yelp, stumbling as Crowley tugged him over to the center of the shop. Crowley sauntered in a circle as he sung the lyrics to the song, Aziraphale rushing to do the same. Crowley only stumbled occasionally and slurred his speech slightly, but he still sounded wonderful. Aziraphale didn’t know the lyrics too well, but he did try and sing the accompaniment.

“In the land with horses born with eagle wings and honey bees have lost their stings, there’s singing forever…”

“Ooh yeah!” They occasionally sung parts together, otherwise it was mostly Crowley singing the actual lyrics while Aziraphale stuck to what he knew.

“Lion’s den with fallow deer, and rivers made from wine so clear flow on and on forever, and baby lambs where Samson dares to go on…” Eventually they went from only Crowley singing with Aziraphale piping up ever so often to the both of them singing to the best of their abilities. After the next few lines they got to the third and fourth verses, much more exciting than the previous two, which is when Crowley linked their arms and brought them into a march around the center of the bookstore, raucous singing included.

“Then came man to savage in the night! To run like thieves and to kill like knives, to take away power from the magic hand, to bring about the ruin to the promised laaaaaaand!” They eventually spun about the little shop with hands tangled with hands, singing the fourth verse with as much joy and happiness as supernaturally possible. “They turn the milk into sour like the blue in the blood of my veins!”

“Why can’t you see it?”

“Fire burnin’ in hell with the cry of screaming paaaain!”

“Son of heaven set me free and let me go!”

“Sea turns dry no salt from sand, seasons dry, no helping hand! Teeth don’t shine like pearls for poor men’s eyeeeees!”

“No more!”

They broke apart after the fourth verse, back facing the other’s. Their voices turned soft, Crowley singing with the memories of heaven he’d held so dear before he’d fallen, Aziraphale singing with the softness he still has.

"Someone….”

“Someone…”

“…has drained the color from my wings…”

“…b-broken my fairy circle ring…” Aziraphale stuttered in that line alone, just because he could physically feel the bittersweet softness in these lines alone, it nearly made his heart break, and as a being of love, that would not be ideal.

“…and shamed the king in all his pride…”

“…changed the winds and wronged the tides…”

“Mother Mercury, look what they’ve done to me…” In this moment, Crowley stretched out his wings, Aziraphale feeling them brush against his shoulder blades. His breath hitched, feeling tears well up in his eyes. Crowley had fallen just because he’d hung around the wrong people, asked too many questions, as he said. Aziraphale lost a flaming sword, raised the wrong child, lied directly to the Almighty, and yet he was still an angel. It wasn’t fair. He should be the fallen one, he should be the demon, not Crowley.

Crowley never did anything wrong.

“…I cannot run, I cannot hide…” Aziraphale sung softly, albeit he was slightly choked. He heard the gentle sound of wings retreating back to fold against their owner, then disappear. He heard the record being removed from the player, and soft footsteps walking over to him.

“Angel?” Crowley’s soft voice made Aziraphale’s bottom lip quiver, a single tear rolling down his face. A sound that _heavenly_ should not have ever been allowed to leave heaven.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

Everything. The angel-angel, sure, what a phony-did not say the word directly, but the thought pounded in his skull. He distantly felt Crowley slowly tilt his head toward him, and that’s when Aziraphale broke, letting out a harsh sob, stumbling forward to bury his head in Crowley’s chest and sob.

“I-It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have been cast out, y-you never did anyt-thing wrong!” Aziraphale yelled, his cries of anguish turning to wracking sobs and screams. Crowley unfurled his wings again, curling them around the other in a cocoon of soft feathers as the ethereal being sobbed into Crowley’s shirt and clung to his jacket. Crowley sobered up, as to keep his head about things, burying his fingers into the angel’s hair as Aziraphale shook in his arms and wings. Crowley smelled like licorice and slightly of alcohol, like a muted sweetness that made Aziraphale pull him even closer, the demon not hesitating to wrap his arms around the other, murmuring words of comfort and affection as the angel sniffled softly. Crowley picked him up and brought him over to one of the plush couches in the store, kneeling next to it and cupping Aziraphale’s tear stained cheek, covering him with one of his wings, eventually pulling a soft blanket over him and letting his wings fold up and disappear once again.

“Get some rest, angel.”

“But we don’t need sleep-“

“There’s nothing better than a nap after a bit of an emotional breakdown, just trust me on that one…’’

“I- Okay. Can you stay here though, please?”

Crowley looked unsure for a moment before softening and letting Aziraphale curl around him like a koala on the couch. He gently pulled the blanket over the two of them, Aziraphale’s cheek smushed against his chest, staring at the other’s soft smile before his own appeared on the angel’s face. He settled, hands slowly letting go of his jacket, Crowley realizing the angel- his angel, had fallen asleep from pure emotional exhaustion. He smiled to himself as he miracled the lights in the store to turn off, removing his glasses and settling in to doze off. He distantly thought that Aziraphale should have sobered up before falling asleep, but then remembered angels probably couldn’t get hangovers. Probably. He fell asleep, dreaming of whatever he liked best, (Aziraphale) and neither of them let go of the other in their sleep, keeping each other close all throughout the night, nor Heaven, Hell, or anyone else for that matter even thinking of disturbing the two.


	2. The Great Pretender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is sent off on an adventure to try and not bore himself to death- well, discorporation- when Aziraphale has to clean up shop. Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall this a series now

It was a mere week after Almost-geddon, and Crowley, for the most part, had spent that time with Aziraphale, going out to eat, getting drunk, passing out, such and such. He had returned occasionally to water his plants. Aziraphale said he’d needed to clean up a bit, so he’d gone back to his flat. Crowley offered to help, but Aziraphale said he’d be fine on his own.

“You have houseplants to tend to! I’m sure they miss you. I don’t want to steal all your attention!” He’d said it with a wink before ushering Crowley out, waving from inside as Crowley walked to his Bentley.

Crowley knew his plants didn’t miss him, but he did know they most likely missed Aziraphale. The angel did tend to gush to the plants whenever Crowley came over. Was Crowley jealous? Never! Why would he be jealous of a plant? The Bentley’s radio was _apparently_ trying to push the demon’s buttons, because it was absolutely **_blaring_** Somebody To Lovealmost the second he’d turned the key. He rushed to turn the volume down, knowing everyone on the street could hear, and he _swore_ he could see Aziraphale in the shop hiding a smile on his face. He’ll get that dastardly angel back for this.

As Crowley drove to his flat, he had a near permanent frown on his face, a very odd accompaniment to the blatant flush on his face. Once he’d arrived, he slammed his face into the steering wheel, sighing in defeat and getting out of that traitorous car of his.

“Stupid car, blaring that dumb song…” He slapped the hood of the car as a sort of reprimand, going inside, searching for the spray bottle he’d used for his plants. He’d ditched his jacket on the way inside, slowly walking into the room where he kept his plants.

“So… It’s been a while, hm? I’m sure **_none of you_** have been **_misbehaving_** while I was gone?” Crowley gave the greenery a pointed look, not seeing any spots. For now. “I see that you’ve all been doing well. And it will **_stay that way,_** correct?” The plants shook in fear, Crowley’s eyes gazing down at the smaller plants like a benevolent god. He saw some movement in his peripheral, seeing a little succulent far away from all the others on the windowsill. It shook too. He sauntered over to it, recognizing it as one Aziraphale had given him, the angel had even painted the pot with little flowers and books. The corner of his lip twitched, scooping up the plant oh-so tenderly, fingers ghosting over the leaves. “Not you, dear. You’ve done wonderfully while I was gone. You could never do anything wrong in my eyes.” Crowley turned and glared at the other plants, feeling as though they were happy before Crowley entered. Not relieved, but _pleased._ If someone broke in here and complimented his plants, they wouldn’t live to see another day.

Crowley set the little succulent on the windowsill gingerly, ceramic tapping against wood. “Must be awfully lonely here, but Aziraphale hasn’t given me any new plants, so sorry, dear…” He was only kind to this plant, borrowing a book from Aziraphale and always giving it back once he was done, the only reading he’d gotten in was reading to that plant before he went to bed. He sauntered away, sitting in front of the little television he had to watch some mindless programming, but that got boring after a while, settling for standing in front of a window and watching cars drive by.

“Seems like a nice day for a drive… If my car’s willing to cooperate for once.” He picked up his keys, opening the door to his flat. He turned to look back at the halls and corridors he could see before leaving and locking the door behind him.

He settled into his car, sighing and turning the key, bracing himself for another hot, fresh round of embarrassment, courtesy of his own car. It never came. His car was playing The Great Pretender at a normal volume. He pat the dashboard of his car and drove off toward Tadfield. Might be nice to visit Anathema and Newton, maybe check on Adam and the Them. He cranked the volume, seeing someone on the side of the street nod to him in approval. He gave them a two fingered salute and promptly slammed his foot onto the gas and sped off toward the village. No angels to stop him here. He felt it odd that he fount himself hesitating to drive how he’d always driven before. Oh, that angel turned him soft! He grumbled, but kept using disgusting **_turn signals._** Vile. Absolutely vile.

He arrived at Tadfield not long after, parking in a spot that is definitely not meant to be parked in, just to sort of show this cursed world that he hadn’t gone soft. He didn’t know whether to go to Anathema or Adam first, but after very little thinking he decided to go visit Anathema, he didn’t think Adam’s parents would be too delighted to find a tall man dressed in all black at their doorstep asking to see their son. Maybe he’d take a walk and see the kid on his bike. Maybe. He stopped at the door to Jasmine Cottage, where Anathema still lived. He gave the door a harsh knock, distinctly hearing a loud grumble from inside, before someone opened the door. It was Newton.

“Ah, afternoon.” Newt was wearing an apron covered in little lightning bolts.

“How’s Anathema? Cute apron.”

“First of all, it’s not cute, Anathema got it for me, second of all, she’s doing well, want to come inside?”

Crowley eyed the horseshoe above the door warily. “Uh… I’d rather not. Could you call Anathema over? I’ve got to get my… car… washed…”

“Oh, sure. Anathema! One of the weird men is here to see you!”

A voice from inside yelled, seemingly just in the kitchen, out of view. “Oh, Aziraphale? Did he come for tea?”

“Oh, no, it’s the other one, with the old car, his boyfriend, I think.”

“I’m not his-“

“Hello, Crowley, how are you?”

“Ah, Anathema, fantastic. Do me a favor and tell _your_ boyfriend that Aziraphale is not m- Oh, what’s the point- Look, I just stopped by to say hello, I wanted to make sure you both weren’t dead yet. Have you seen Adam recently?”

“Oh, I see him in the woods with his friends sometimes, they’re such nice kids. Pepper doesn’t seem to like Newt very much, still calls me a ‘victim of the patriarchy.’ Brian finally went to America, had a lot of ice cream while he was there, he told me. Wensleydale is still the same, he brings me recipes from his parents, they really like to make sandwiches. How’s the car?”

Crowley moved aside to show Anathema, the car gleaming in the summer sun.

“Aziraphale’s bookshop?”

“A-Okay.”

“Did you know he talks a lot? H-“

“Yes, I’m familiar.”

“You didn’t let me finish. He talks a lot _about you._ He never stops, he goes on and on about how you’re so nice to hi-“

“Alright, great talking to you Anathema, goodbye, sorry, can’t talk buh-bye!” Crowley yelled over Anathema, running back to his Bentley and speeding off. It left Anathema and Newton standing in their doorway, watching the Bentley as it drove off.

“Rude.” Anathema said to no one, closing the door and walking back inside, Newt following after.

Meanwhile, Crowley sped off back toward London, too flustered to think about turn signals and road rules. “Stupid Anathema, stupid Newt, not-stupid Aziraphale, I’m not fucking nice… We talked about this, angel…” He kept grumbling as he got to his flat and collapsed on the nearest soft surface. He suddenly realized that when he wasn’t with Aziraphale, life was awfully boring. He didn’t want to go back to the angel already, it hadn’t been that long, after all. The sun was beginning to set, humans walking home from work, and others walking to work from home. He could call Hastur, mess with him. He hasn’t done that in a while. He knew the duke of Hell had blocked his number, so he went to a pay phone and punched in Hastur’s way-too-long number.

“Yo! Hastur!”

“Wh- C-Crowley?! How did you-“

“Pay phones, Hastur La Vista.”

“That was an alias! I didn’t have time to think of a proper one!”

“Yeah, yeah, how’s Beelzebub?”

“I- Let me get this straight, you called me, on a normal mortal phone, to **_c-catch up?”_**

“Yup.”

“And you act like nothing’s wrong?! Like you didn’t go native?! LIKE YOU DIDN’T BETRAY HE-“

“Okay, that’s enough out of you, and do me a favor and tell Beelzebub that Gabriel and them make a wonderful couple.”

“Wh-“

He hung up then, allowing himself the pleasure of letting out a wicked cackle as he stepped out of the phone booth, seeing a tan coat flare behind someone that had just rounded a corner, going out of sight. Crowley ran after him, yelling for Aziraphale like a madman.

“Angel! Hey! Angel!” He saw the other turn around soon enough, confusion quickly being replaced by a soft smile. Crowley reciprocated, catching up to the angel.

“Ah, Crowley, how was your day? Not here to get me to run off with you, are we?”

“I- That was one time, angel!”

“I know, I know, how were your plants?” Aziraphale began walking, Crowley walking next to him.

“They seemed fine, oddly happy before I got home.”

“O-Oh, how nice. Must have been a nice day for them, I suppose.”

“Went to see Anathema, she’s doing well, Adam isn’t planning on starting the apocalypse again.”

“Oh, lovely! Want to come inside for some tea?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to take a little break. I’ve been running around London for quite a while.”

“Wonderful!” Aziraphale ushers Crowley inside, the two still chattering on as the citizens of London meander about the city. Beelzebub is reluctantly told Crowley’s message, and is immediately turned tomato red. Hastur was sent away and complained to any listening ear about Crowley once again. Adam and the Them still have adventures about witches and occasionally make fun of the Four Horsemen. Normal kid things. Anathema is still a witch, what else would she be, an aardvark? Newt still isn’t allowed around computers, for the sake of not burning down Jasmine Cottage, and all is well.


End file.
